


Definitionally

by 9_of_Clubs



Series: In the House by the Sea [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Flirting, M/M, Making out on a Beach, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Will wants Hannibal to wear less layers, but also some deeper thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They sit quietly, the waves lapping softly across the shore, shimmering under the sunlight. Occasionally they grow bold enough to creep out as far as Will’s toes, the cold sharp against his bare skin, but he doesn’t move himself away. Hannibal hums amusement beside him, shifting closer, unconcerned, even the waves aren’t brave enough to tease him.<br/>--</p><p>(Or my friend said, Will and Hannibal making out on the beach, and it hulked out just a little.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They sit quietly, the waves lapping softly across the shore, shimmering under the sunlight. Occasionally they grow bold enough to creep out as far as Will’s toes, the cold sharp against his bare skin, but he doesn’t move himself away. Hannibal hums amusement beside him, shifting closer, unconcerned, even the waves aren’t brave enough to tease him. 

“You know,” He turns to the other, head tilting as he squints against the brightness, of the rays, of Hannibal, “We live on the beach now, we’re definitionally beach bums, you could do with a few less layers now and again.” 

“You do not like the suits?” Hannibal’s teasing, but his voice is pitched to offended, maybe a part of him actually is and Will snorts. 

“No, no. Nothing against the suits.” He smirks and bends his head forward, close enough to smell the spiciness of the other. “You know I love the suits, wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings.” He shifts onto his knees, enjoying the way the heat curls against him, the taste of salt on his tongue. “But I wouldn’t think they’d like the sand and the water, that you’d put them through it so cold heartedly.” He’s kneeling in front of Hannibal now, the other’s eyes lazily dragging onto his. “And -” He reaches out, lets his fingers curl around the silk of the tie, pulls the garish, lovely, thing forward and Hannibal with it. “I like what’s underneath even better.” 

“So you would have me dress down.” The words are breaths against his lips, “to achieve...easier access?” It sounds lewd in Hannibal’s voice, in his buttoned up, eloquent, elegant, voice and Will’s blood thrums in his ears. The other’s eyes are perfectly innocent, but his lips quirk infinitesimally, Will wants to drag his teeth through them. “I think perhaps that might make me feel...taken advantage of.”

Hannibal’s fingers have already slipped under his t-shirt, brushing skin, and he growls at him, at the layers of fabric that still separate his own hands from the same. “Doctor Lecter,” He leans forward to whisper in his ear. “Not a soul on this earth could make you feel taken advantage of if you didn’t want it.” He lets some of the darkness wrap around the words, some of the anger and betrayal that still languishes, not enough to ruin the afternoon, but it’s safer this way, to let it dance in short, meaningless, bursts rather than leave it unchecked beneath his skin. And besides, he likes how it makes Hannibal shudder, makes him hold on tighter, opens his impenetrable walls and draws out vulnerability from where it’s carefully locked away - from a place only Will holds the key too. Masochistically, he knows Hannibal likes it too, likes the danger of being held in someone else’s grasp, that it’s Will holding him. 

He bends forward and kisses the sweet tang of something like fear that’s only ever present in moments like these. Only tiny hints of exist it in the cacophony of everything else that is Hannibal, but it reminds Will, reminds them both, that he’s real, that Will has sacrificed everything for a life that is breathing and thrumming, not for a shadow of death. 

“We both know that’s untrue.” Hannibal murmurs when they part, panting heavily, Will’s fingers wrapped around his jaw. Their gaze meets again, deafening the sound of the surf with its intensity, the hum of power that always fills Hannibal buzzing through Will, the intoxicating knowledge of what is his. Hannibal whispers to him in the night of the symphonies he hears behind closed eyes, of the clash of cymbals and the roar of drums, but for Will everything stops when they’re like this, no borrowed mindsets, no reality at all, just him and Hannibal, falling together. 

He doesn’t answer, lets the conversation fall away, _yes,_ he thinks, _and no,_ but he only moves closer, fingers undoing the tie now, finding buttons, his own shirt falling to the side. _But it doesn’t matter._ His teeth graze Hannibal’s neck, kiss bruises into his skin. He’s made his choices.


	2. Sunstroke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The after.

It takes a lot to convince Hannibal to stay out there in the sand, warm and content against each other. The other grumbles concerns about burning skin and sand everywhere, but Will ignores him, slits his eyes and lets his mind start to drift. Hannibal’s body is strong and solid next to his, and the other is close enough for Will to feel the reverberations of the resigned sigh as Hannibal relents, lies back, head tilting up to the sky. His eyes stare out unseeing for a moment, but then flutter shut, as though he knows Will is watching and it pleases him to bask in the silent attention uninterrupted. Hannibal’s lips are kiss swollen, reddened, and dark bruises are blooming slowly along tanned skin. It’s a pleasing sight, one that the other allows him more often as time goes by, he’s undone, open in his own way, dressed in only the marks Will has left him with. 

He looks as though he belongs here, Hannibal does, stripped from the suits that bind him, the society that constricts him, that had forced him into ill fitting normalcy. He looks like part of the nature that sprawls around them, the more Will really sees him, vast and unyielding, as though the sand and water have unearthed him, the wind carved him out of stone. It was always there, he considers, in some fashion, but it’s so stark now, so unavoidable. He thinks in a way, he’s no different, but born of something else, of wind and dirt, less godly, lower. 

Hannibal cracks an eye as though sensing the thought, shaking his head lightly before closing it again, Will scoffs at him. If he’d made the thoughts into words, Hannibal would tell him that he’s nothing of the sort, but some things are still only for himself. 

“It was you who suggested that we remain here and rest.” Hannibal is speaking without stirring, his lips barely moving. “If you no long wish to do so -” 

Will cuts him off with a kiss, leaning over his body, covering it with his own as their lips meet again, Will’s eyes open, Hannibal’s still closed, relaxed. “Shut up.” He murmurs and rolls back down, languidly curling up against the other’s chest. Hannibal makes a sound deep in his throat, a low rumbling and then stills. The sun lulls them both to sleep.


End file.
